


Stories From Avalon

by Smash_50



Series: Avalon [5]
Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sonic and the Black Knight, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smash_50/pseuds/Smash_50
Summary: Extra stories based off of prompts from Tumblr.
Relationships: King Arthur/Lancelot (Sonic and the Black Knight), Shadow the Hedgehog/King Arthur (Sonic and the Black Knight), Sonic the Hedgehog/Lancelot (Sonic and the Black Knight)
Series: Avalon [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801990
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anon: 'the boys getting a late night snack and just chatting while they're both on the verge of collapsing'

“You’ve worked through dinner, haven’t you?”

Arthur’s hand stilled, halfway through another decree or response to a decree that he could barely remember reading or drafting in the first place. His eyes read the word ‘grain’ about five times over as his mind was jolted from a place of absolute focus, and his hand and back cramped up, finally feeling the effects of all that work.

Had it been hours? It felt like hours. The room was dark, so it must have been hours. A hand lifted his face, and Arthur winced at the stab of pain that went through his stressed shoulder muscles.

Lancelot was there. Definitely hours, then.

His knight pushed up his visor, his eyes dull from exhaustion, and Arthur tried to recall what he had been up to that day. A protection mission? Overseeing the construction or implementation of a new landmark or feature, which he himself perhaps had agreed to on another night such as this? Had he fought a champion, further cementing himself as the greatest knight of the Round Table?

“Answer my question.”

Arthur blinked. He couldn’t remember the question.

Lancelot sighed, his hand running through blue spines, and Arthur’s eyelids drooped as his stomach gave a loud growl. The king didn’t have to reopen his eyes to know that Lancelot was frowning at him.

“You must take better care of yourself, Arthur. Your love, care, and dedication to your people is incredible, but it should never come at your own expense.”

Arthur’s ear flicked in response. Lancelot had such a nice voice...

He heard a sigh, then felt an arm wrap around his waist, and the next thing he knew, Lancelot was pulling him out of his chair and away from his desk. “Come on,” he murmured, his nice voice tickling Arthur’s ear. “At least a small bit of food will be better than none.”

“You’re so strong,” Arthur mumbled, leaning more onto his knight, and he heard and felt the sharp intake of breath from the other. It made him grin in his half-asleep state, but it morphed into a frown when Lancelot said nothing more after that. “What time’s it?” he asked, wanting to hear that voice again, to have it replace the jumble of words that filled his mind, the words of work and decisions and stress and--

“Late,” the knight replied tersely, and Arthur frowned at his failure to initiate conversation. He should have guessed as much; Arthur had always been the more wordy of the two.

Yet right about then, he could scarcely put one foot in front of the other.

He wondered if Lancelot would be willing to carry him.

The thought sent a small thrill through him.

But his mouth opened, and only a yawn escaped, and by the time it was finished, Arthur had already forgotten what he had been thinking about.

They passed by the dining hall; there would be nothing in there at this hour. They passed by the kitchens; powerful and authoritative as they were, no one disturbed the chefs’ workplace. Lancelot steered Arthur toward the pantry and helped him keep his balance against a wall. The knight covered his mouth, stifling a yawn of his own, and Arthur wondered if either of them would make it to bed that night, or if they would simply pass out in the pantry to be found the next morning.

The other knights would have a grand old laugh at that...

“Here.” A quarter loaf of bread was shoved into his hands a moment later, its twin resting in Lancelot’s grasp. “I think we could get away with half a loaf without too much trouble.”

Arthur frowned, lifting the plain bread to his face, nose twitching at the yeasty smell that it gave off. “Could I have something else?” he asked, yet it sounded more like a whine. “Like some butter or jam?”

“Butter is not kept in the pantry,” Lancelot replied firmly. “And jam would keep you up all night.”

Arthur groaned, but took a bite of bread, but just one bite was enough to make him realize how hungry he really was. The next bite happened before he had finished his first, and he was wolfing down the bread before he knew it, absolutely ravenous, feeling as though his guts were a void of emptiness that would never be filled.

Arthur was staring, unfocused, at the crumbs on his hands, wondering if he should eat them as well, until the other part of the loaf was resting in them. The king looked up in surprise, while Lancelot pushed his visor back down, looking away.

“Go on,” he urged quietly. “I’m not very hungry.”

Arthur frowned, contemplating his dilemma. His gut still ached for more food, but Lancelot surely needed something as well, right?

He reached over, stubbornly lifting Lancelot’s visor, and put the bread in front of his face. “You need to eat, too.”

“I told you, I am not hungry.”

“I can tell you’re lying, Lance,” Arthur replied softly, watching as Lancelot’s eyes shifted away in shame. “Tired as I am, hiding your face is an obvious sign.”

The knight heaved another sigh, and Arthur could practically feel his exhaustion paint the small room they were in. “Arthur, you need it more, it is really not--”

“Do I need to feed you myself?” Arthur snapped, tiredness getting the better of him, and the look on Lancelot’s face would have been priceless if he had been in any state of mind to enjoy it. “Just eat. You’re too important to go hungry as well.”

There was a look on Lancelot’s face, one that Arthur couldn’t quite decipher, but the knight took his offering and the king relaxed, mollified. “Your importance outweighs my own,” Lancelot murmured, though he obeyed and took a hungry bite from his portion.

“Not to me,” Arthur replied, eyes already starting to close as the food started to find its mark and quell the aching in his stomach, coaxing him into sleep’s embrace. He heard an odd intake of air, but was too far gone to question it.

When he woke up the next morning, he was lying on his bed, still fully-clothed, and with a sense that he had missed something important.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from sparcadee: 'When Arthur and Lance began to sleep together, and how it looked like?'

Sir Lancelot was strong. He was courageous. He had handled problems and fought battles that would easily overwhelm the common man. He was unshakable, unbreakable, and feared nearly nothing.

So why was just one little invitation from Arthur that night enough to send his heart and mind into disarray?

“Do you want to come in?”

Lancelot swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, but his feet moved of their own accord. He stepped forward into Arthur’s bedchambers, and out the corner of his eye he saw the big smile on his lover’s face.

His heart started beating faster and his hands felt as though they would start shaking any moment.

Arthur, his greatest strength and biggest weakness, was managing to turn him into an absolute mess of a man yet again.

“I know it is late,” Arthur said, sounding apologetic as he closed the door behind him. “I just haven’t been able to see you much in the last few days, and tomorrow will be the same...”

Chaos, Lancelot hated how _resigned_ his king sounded.

“...It seems as though I must fight for every moment I might have with you.”

Lancelot scarcely had time to blink before Arthur was right in front of him, arms already raising until he paused. “May I?”

In response, Lancelot walked into his embrace, feeling his breath hitch as Arthur’s arms encircled him. It still boggled the knight’s mind that, less than two weeks ago, Arthur had made his feelings and intentions toward him clear, and in that short time he had overtaken his thoughts like never before.

Stolen glances... The light touch of his hand under the Round Table during meetings... Pulling him aside into an empty room and kissing him deeply before leaving to the next matter at hand... It was enough to drive him mad, to make him long for more, to make him agree to something so reckless as to blatantly walk into the king’s chambers without a second thought about getting caught.

Arthur drew back, his arms still around him, and even in the dimming torchlight, he was radiant.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” he asked, and Lancelot felt his knees almost buckle below him.

“I... I do not know if...”

“You may say no if the idea displeases you,” Arthur said, letting him go.

“It doesn’t... _displease_ me, but...” Lancelot swallowed again, trying his hardest not to stammer.

“But you’re worried we’ll be caught?” Arthur guessed, and yes, that was certainly one part of the flurry of thoughts spinning around the knight’s head. “Then... would you be willing to stay with me until I go to bed?”

Lancelot couldn’t answer. His tongue felt as though it was made of lead, and he couldn’t for the life of him form words. He cursed himself for getting so overwhelmed so quickly, and for what? A request to stay from the man he loved? Did he not make the vow to stand by his side fifteen years ago?

Arthur stepped away from him, ears drooping a smidge, and Lancelot wanted to punch himself for getting so nervous and worked up over nothing.

Then Arthur began removing his crown, then his cape, then his gauntlets, and Lancelot’s mind dove right back into a frenzy.

_Chaos above, did Arthur intend for them to...?!_

The king paused, seeing his knight’s stricken face, and looked nervous himself, abruptly crossing his arms and hiding his bare hands under his armpits. “Is something the matter?” he asked. “Would you prefer I got ready for bed out of your sight? I just thought, since we used to change into our armor together when we were still training, that this would be okay, but... I suppose things are different now.”

Lancelot was ready to slap himself, too. Of course Arthur’s intentions had been innocent. They had hardly been together all that long, and with all the work they had been doing lately, how could they be prepared for something like that?

“It’s fine,” Lancelot finally said, after beating his embarrassment back. “I just...”

_Just do it. Make him and yourself happy._

“...I’ll stay.”

The sun itself couldn’t have outshone Arthur’s joyful grin, and the next thing Lancelot was aware of was a pair of lips pressing to his cheek. The knight’s eyes closed, mind going blank with bliss, and when Arthur moved away again, Lancelot took a deep breath before removing his armor as well.

He still felt nervous and hesitant as he made his way to Arthur’s bed, sliding under the covers and rolling onto his side to face his lover. Arthur was still smiling at him, so happy to just be near him, even if they weren’t to stay awake, and Lancelot found himself scooting closer, his arms reaching out to hold. He felt his face heat up as his bare hands caressed along his king’s spines, and the heat turn into an inferno as Arthur’s head dipped forward, ducking down to nuzzle against his neck.

“I hope I’m not being too forward,” Arthur murmured, “but may I touch the fur on your chest?”

The idea of Arthur being able to feel just how rapidly his heart was beating absolutely mortified Lancelot, and yet a nervous “Y-Yes,” slipped from his lips.

Arthur paid his stutter and his nervousness no extra attention aside from a reassuring squeeze around his middle, and his face dipped just a little lower until it rested against the white tuft of fur on his chest. Lancelot hardly dared breathe; he had expected Arthur’s hand to touch it, but his head, where his ears could so easily hear the pounding of his heart?

“Wow,” Arthur breathed, nuzzling closer, making Lancelot feel as though he were about to explode from emotion. “I would give up every pillow and cushion I have for you instead.”

“I... surely I am not that comfortable?”

“On the contrary, Lance, I think I will sleep the best I’ve ever slept in my life tonight... if you still want to stay?”

And Lancelot took a deep breath, trying to shift through his emotions and thoughts and insecurities, searching for the answer he wanted to give.

“I want to stay.”

His arms tightened around Arthur, and Arthur held him back, with their torsos pressed together and their legs tangling comfortably and Arthur’s unfair height advantage becoming exaggerated by him ducking down to cuddle more fully into Lancelot’s chest. Lancelot decided to take the initiative, gripping onto Arthur as he rolled onto his back, letting his king lie on top on him and sink into him from above.

“Is... this comfortable for you?” Lancelot whispered, his voice failing him.

Arthur sighed contentedly in response, his arms readjusting one last time. “Very,” he mumbled, already sounding as though he was drifting off to sleep, and Lancelot felt his heart swell as he realized that they had all night to enjoy each other’s touch. And maybe the next night, and the night after that, and every night that followed.

Days were so frequently stolen from them, but nights could be theirs.

He knew he would have to be careful leaving Arthur’s room in the mornings. He knew they still couldn’t afford to be caught.

He would deal with that when he woke up.

For now, he enjoyed the warm weight of his lover, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of his head before leaning back, finally starting to relax.

“Goodnight, Lance.”

Lancelot slid a finger-light caress along his king’s arm before closing his eyes.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from anon: 'the boys getting bored at a big royal party they were invited to and they just sneak off to go find something fun to do like eat a bunch of food or take a run around the garden or something'

The Festival of Borrum was underway, and Arthur let himself stand back for a moment and admire the festivities taking place in honor of the wind god, from the buffet table where Bors and Lamorak were stuffing their faces, to the area marked off for dancing where Guinevere was spinning as though she was stepping on the winds themselves, to the altar in the middle where Merlina knelt, putting forth her offering and whispering her wishes, prayers, and thanks to the deity of air and wind.

All in all, the king figured that he did a pretty excellent job setting this one up.

His eyes roamed around, wondering what he should do to take part in this holiday; the line for the altar was a bit too long, and he wasn’t particularly hungry. Maybe he could find some good conversation?

He looked around at the clusters of people, chatting and eating and drinking and making merry. He knew that he could approach just about anyone and they would welcome him without complaint, but the idea of inserting himself into conversations didn’t appeal to him. His gaze kept shifting about, lingering on the dancefloor for a second as Galahad made his way up, levitating himself so that he could spin around as quickly and gracefully as Guinevere. The bat laughed at the boy’s antics, taking his hands to spin him around with her, and from far away, almost hidden in the sea of voices and the sound of the winds blowing, he swore he heard a quiet chuckle.

He looked to his side; not too far away, Lancelot was watching his son spin around with his friend, and though his face was predictably hidden, Arthur knew that a smile lay below it. He walked over, and a flick of Lancelot’s ear in his direction told Arthur that he knew that he was coming.

“Are you going to join them?” he asked, discreetly placing his hand on the small of Lancelot’s back, smirking at the way his knight stood up straighter at his touch. Even without seeing his face, there was something so fun about flustering his lover.

“Not now,” Lancelot responded. “They’re having plenty of fun as it is.” His head turned in Arthur’s direction. “And what about you? Reckless spinning seems like your style of dance.”

“Hey,” Arthur warned, playfully wagging his finger at his knight. “Just because you had someone to teach you all the fancy dances doesn’t mean we all did. Dancing isn’t high on the list of requirements when they’re teaching you how to be a king.”

“Hmph. A convenient excuse for stepping on my toes.”

Arthur looked at his companion in delight. “Are you jesting with me, Lance?” he asked, and he heard that soft chuckle again that made his spirits soar.

For a moment, they watched the festivities continue in silence, until Arthur leaned against Lancelot’s side, his hand dropping to cup his knight’s. “Do you want to go for a run?” he whispered, and Lancelot squeezed his hand once in affirmation.

They made their way outside the main wall outside the castle 一 “Just taking a little break from the noise!” Arthur had called out to the guards in charge of the drawbridge 一 and once they found themselves at the starting point that they typically took to Misty Lake, Lancelot pointed in a different direction.

“How about a few laps around the castle?”

“A few?” Arthur taunted. “Don’t you mean a few hundred?”

There was that chuckle again, and Arthur counted himself blessed that he had heard it three times that day.

“I thought you would have filled in the blanks on your own, Sire,” Lancelot responded, and his good mood was so infectious that Arthur couldn’t even jokingly berate him for using formal terms.

The wind rustled through their spines as they dashed along, running circles around Castle Camelot with Arthur in the lead and Lancelot only a step behind him. The thrill of running coupled with the joy of the freedom a holiday brought, spent with someone he loved so dearly, put a lively spring in Arthur’s step that he had once thought he would perhaps never feel again, and they ran so fast that Arthur wondered if they could make a cyclone, a tornado, if maybe they could find a way to command the winds on this sacred day.

They ran and ran until out of breath, and when one’s footsteps began to slow, so did the other’s, until they were both doubled over, lowering themselves to sit on the grass. The breeze flowed past them, carrying the leaves from the trees, bringing them into the air for one final dance before they fell to the ground.

“I know the gods cannot have descendants,” Lancelot remarked, voice croaking slightly from exertion, “but I swear Borrum himself has blessed you.”

Arthur let out a small laugh, leaning against his knight and lifting his visor. Lancelot’s scarred lips were raised in a smile, and his crimson eyes were soft, looking at him in adoration. Arthur’s heart picked up speed again, as though he were running once more.

The king leaned forward, and the knight raised his hands to run through his quills in a silent ‘yes’, and just as how their first kiss had gone, the winds whistled through the trees as though cheering for them.

“I love you.”

“Until the end of time, I love you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU of my own AU.
> 
> When one has a water deity as a mother, one does not know drowning. Yet when Lancelot saves a man from a river, he might just find himself in too deep.

All his life, Lancelot had considered his life to be akin to a stream; small, perhaps, but endlessly flowing, able to carve down into the world and leave a mark. He had direction, being pulled forth with or without a purpose, and only became stronger and larger the further along he went.

But something had changed after he left Corbenic to retrieve his sword, the legendary Arondight, and learn the ways of the water with his mother. Training at Misty Lake had been a new sort of challenge, no longer working out his body but his mind and any semblance of magical ability he had. Lancelot was powerful, much more powerful than he had realized, and though he would never reach the ranks of a learned wizard, he had capabilities beyond most others with his mother’s blessing.

The Lady of the Lake had taught him well, and water would never hurt Lancelot.

Yet with a new threshold passed, Lancelot began to feel stagnant, less like a rushing stream morphing into a river and more akin to a lake, like his mother’s home. Impressive, but still.

He had asked Nimue for guidance, a next step, and so he found himself making his way to Camelot on foot, slow and steady, as he figured that whatever he chose would be what destiny had in store for him.

 _“Go to the capital city,”_ his mother had told him with a wise smile. _“Something tells me that you will find enough there for the rest of your life.”_

Vague, but worth listening to. Nimue had never been wrong before, and her guidance was something to be grateful for.

The man admired the world as it passed him by, step by step. The winds whispered around him, promising a world bigger than the corners that he knew, and it struck Lancelot just how far he could go, just how much he could learn, if he just kept exploring.

_Was the rest of his life truly confined to Camelot?_

He shook his doubts away. His mother had told him that there was enough for him there, not that he would stagnate further. An opportunity, perhaps, to see more of the world or consume the knowledge therein? A way to refine his power into something even greater? A purpose, guiding him like the wind guided the waters of the river as it began to carve its bed into the world?

Lancelot chose the long way to Camelot, following the river that flowed down from the north, finding serenity in its familiarity. He trusted the water, and always would.

**“AHHH!”**

The sound of a scream and a splash up ahead had Lancelot’s ears shooting up in alarm, and without a second’s hesitation, he rushed forward, looking for the source. Up ahead, he saw lines in the dirt, skid marks from someone who had tried to stop but was unable to do so in time, and further along, bobbing up and down in the river, he saw a head and a pair of flailing arms struggling to keep to the surface.

 _What are you doing, you fool?!_ Lancelot wondered as he rushed forth, faster than the river’s intense current. _Swim! Swim or you will not survive!_

The head surfaced one more time with a gasp, before the body collided rather harshly with a stone that jutted out above the water, then went under. Lancelot felt his blood run cold.

He had never had to imagine what drowning would be like, but he felt terror and panic sweep in when the other didn’t resurface, and without a second thought he jumped in after them.

Lancelot opened his eyes after submerging himself, drawing in a slow breath as he adjusted to breathing underwater again. He saw the figure getting pulled along, body limp and stunned, and far too much air was escaping the lungs. Lancelot raced forward, fast in water as he was on land, scooped up the stranger in his arms, and carried him to the surface.

They emerged, Lancelot easily coughing the water from his throat to make room for air once again, while the stranger in his arms curled up, heaving, trying desperately to expel what he could from his lungs. Lancelot was surprised; he would have thought that a blow like that would have rendered anyone unconscious. The black hedgehog stood up on the water’s surface, making sure to keep steady, and put his hand on the stranger’s back, focusing his energies on the droplets that remained. His hand stroked upwards, passing soaked blue spines, feeling strong but lean muscles that lied below the skin, and brought the water upwards until the other hedgehog in his arms coughed it all out, wheezing for breath.

Lancelot waited for a while, letting the other recover, before asking, “Are you okay?”

The stranger in his arms stirred, then uncurled, and then Lancelot was looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen in his life.

His mouth went dry.

“You...” the other rasped, coughing a few more times. “You saved me...”

“I did,” Lancelot replied, his tongue feeling like lead and his eyes unable to leave the other’s. “I was not going to let someone drown.”

The man blinked, looking at him in gentle awe, and Lancelot willed his knees not to buckle below him. Then those eyes roamed away, and Lancelot mourned their loss, though suddenly he found that he was able to breathe easier.

“You’re standing on water?!” the man yelped, clinging to him in terror, and it brought Lancelot back to his senses. Now that he was thinking clearly again, it was probably a terrible idea to be standing right on top of the river that had almost killed the man in his arms.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to soothe him. “Relax. I won’t let you fall. Just look at me.”

Eyes greener than spring locked with his again, and Lancelot couldn’t have looked away if he tried. They stayed together as Lancelot walked along the water’s surface back to dry land, and all the while, the other man’s magnetic gaze pulled him in and held him until Lancelot felt as though he might never think again, for how could one think when looking at a sight so glorious as that?

He didn’t want to set the other down, but he did, softly setting him on the grass so he could regain his bearings and calm down. The man’s grip didn’t lessen, even as solid ground reappeared below him, and Lancelot made sure to keep his hands on the other’s torso.

Just in case...

After a minute or two, the panic faded from the other man’s gaze, and he shivered, glancing back at the river and breaking whatever spell that had been taking over Lancelot’s mind. He inhaled, feeling as though he hadn’t breathed in ages.

Had he? Had he been breathing when those magnificent eyes had been pulling him into their brilliant depths?

_Was this what drowning felt like?_

“You walked across the water as if it were land...”

The other man spoke, looking back to him, his gaze claiming every last bit of Lancelot’s attention with a beautiful effortlessness. The eyes were livelier now, bright with wonder and gratitude and open awe. “Incredible,” he continued, removing his hands to help shift himself into a sitting position, but soon after Lancelot began to mourn the loss of their touch, they were back on him, holding his shoulders. “Are you fae? A deity? Chaos themself?” the man asked, trembling with cold and excitement, and Lancelot felt his face grow warm under such praise.

“None of those,” he managed to reply. “Just a very fortunate man with very skilled teachers.”

“Incredible,” the other breathed, and the repeated compliment sent a new wave of heat to Lancelot’s face. “To have no fear of water...”

For a moment, they stared at each other, the other hedgehog in open awe and Lancelot in mesmerized silence.

“Tell me, brave stranger, what is your name? I wish to thank my rescuer properly.”

Lancelot had to clear his throat before responding. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he saw the other man’s verdant gaze drop down to his mouth. A thrill ran through him, and that pushed him to speak.

“My name is Lancelot du Lac.”

“Lancelot,” the other echoed, and his name had _no right_ to sound so _good_ coming from that voice. The hands on his shoulders dropped down to take his own, and Lancelot thanked all six deities that he was sitting down right then. He doubted he would have retained the strength to stand as the other held his hands between his own. “My greatest thanks to you, Lancelot du Lac. I am forever in your debt.”

“Think nothing of it,” Lancelot insisted, for he was already overwhelmed.

“There _must_ be something I can offer you as thanks,” the other man claimed, his eyes reclaiming Lancelot’s gaze and holding it without trying. “You’ve saved a very powerful person, and I would be more than happy to give you what you desire as thanks.”

The word ‘desire’ also had no right to sound so fantastic coming from that voice, and Lancelot fought it away before speaking again.

“I only want to find my way to Camelot.”

“And then?” the other persisted, his hands squeezing and weakening Lancelot’s resolve in an instant.

“...I haven’t figured out what comes next,” he admitted. He only knew that he could find his destiny in Camelot if he searched for it, but he had no idea where to start.

“Then allow me to accompany you there,” the blue hedgehog said in a tone of voice that remained light but didn’t allow for argument. Lancelot felt his tongue tie itself into knots as the other stood up, helping him to his feet with a pull of their joined hands, and Chaos above, he was handsome when standing at full height and without panic marring his features, wet spines and unkempt appearance be damned. “If you are looking for living arrangements or employment, I think I will be able to help without much trouble.”

“I... I don’t wish to trouble you--”

“Nonsense,” the other man interrupted, and Lancelot couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed about it. “Might I remind you that I would be dead right now if it weren’t for you.”

 _A great loss, to be sure,_ Lancelot thought as he silently let himself be pulled along.

With the lull in conversation and the lack of eyes to pull him under, he finally got a good look at the man he was with. Dark blue spines were beginning to dry off and lighten to a brilliant blue, and a waterlogged cape slapped unpleasantly against long, strong legs. A pair of golden gauntlets covered the hands of his companion, one of which remained stubbornly clamped around his own, and on his hip, a sword lay.

A sword... Lancelot’s eyes widened.

“Are you a knight?” he demanded, causing his companion to slow down.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Lancelot’s mouth went dry again. What did that mean? Just who had he saved?

“What is your name?” he whispered, his voice failing him, and when the other hedgehog turned around to face him, his breath failed him as well as he was sucked back into a world of green.

“King Arthur Pendragon.” The hand around his squeezed again, green eyes glinted in the sun, and Lancelot’s heart stopped in his chest. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

It took all of Lancelot’s willpower not to collapse right then and there.

* * *

One week later, Lancelot found himself kneeling before the court, with Caliburn descending to tap both shoulders.

“Rise, Sir Lancelot du Lac,” came the command, and Lancelot obeyed, looking up at the green pools of warmth that were his king’s eyes. From his spot a few stairs above him, King Arthur extended his hand, and Lancelot took it in his left, bowing down to kiss the gauntlet, his eyes never leaving his king’s hypnotic gaze.

He had agreed to be knighted the instant Arthur had suggested it in his list of things he could do as repayment. Lancelot was a force that needed guidance, and he knew in his heart that Arthur was the right person to direct him. His king was a remarkable man, kind-hearted and free-spirited, and Lancelot knew that he was willing to fight for him. That much had been clear since the first moment he had been pulled into those eyes and drowned, quickly and easily and without terror.

Lancelot had found his destiny in Camelot after all, and it was King Arthur.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted: They say the pen is mightier than the sword...

My Dearest Arthur,

Today, as I was heading back to the castle, Galahad stopped me. He pointed out a bird, small and blue like the sky, drinking from a puddle on the ground. We both stopped, watching it as it drank its fill, stretched its wings, and flew away.

It made me think of you.

My love, you try so hard to be the best leader for us all. You do it without complaint, struggling with the problems of a populace, making the decisions that a lesser being wouldn't dare consider. I know how much this burden crushes you, but all the same, I cannot for the life of me think of anyone more worthy than you to hold such power.

I have heard the complaints of those who disagree with your choices. They throw about opinions without care for consequences. They know nothing of the thought you put into every decision you make, and every time I hear some scoundrel run their mouth about how they would do better than you, I feel the urge to silence them, with my words or my blade, I care not which.

The things you do to me, my love...

Yes, you are the most worthy king, of that, I am certain, but you are also the most deserving of the freedom you crave. I see it, Arthur. I see the way you stare out the window, into the sky, beyond the clouds, with such profound longing that I know and understand all too well. It is enough to make a man weep.

...I have wept, I must admit. For you, and over you. If I could grant you your freedom, I would do so in a heartbeat, even if it meant that you would be gone, leaving like that bird, flying away without a backwards glance and never looking back. My grief at your absence would only be assuaged by the knowledge that you are finally unburdened. That you are happy.

Sometimes, I like to imagine that you take me with you. I imagine your hand in mine, and your smile reaching your eyes, the portrait of joy that should never have left your face, and I follow you, just as I have vowed, to the ends of the earth and into the world beyond this life.

I know it is selfish. I know it is impossible. You, Arthur, are the most selfless man I know. I have seen you grow over many years, becoming more and more responsible with time and experience. It is I who has become selfish. It is I who indulges these fantasies of taking you away to bask in your brilliance that I can never get enough of. But you could never betray your people. You could never say yes to a premature freedom. You will not be king forever, and this we both know, and you are willing to wait for the end of your reign while I still imagine ripping you from this life without a care for those that remain behind.

My desires are inconsiderate, not just to you, but to everything you've worked for. To everyone who needs you. To those who need me, too.

I shall never be worthy of you, Arthur, but my heart shall never beat for anyone else in the way it does for you.

Forever yours,

Lancelot

* * *

Darling Arthur,

Do you remember when we were young? Do you remember when we were but boys, training until we were collapsed on the ground, day after day?

Do you remember the first time you called me 'Lance'?

I hated it back then. I warned you to never call me anything but 'Lancelot' again, for it was my name. It was the name my mother had given me, my mother who saved me and chose me before I even knew how to walk. My name was my link to her, an important part of my identity and my proof of being wanted.

I was, truly, a stupid child.

Now, I treasure the name you gave to me. I do not allow anyone else to use it. 'Lance' is the name you bestowed upon me, a name to signify our own link, our bond... one so close that it makes me dizzy with happiness when I remember just how much we mean to each other. I now hold that name close to my heart, next to my mother's 'Lancelot' and my son's 'Father'.

It pains me that I do not have such a name to give you, my love, save for the endearments in these letters that I shall never send. Yet I never miss how blissful you look when I call you by your given name. You appear unhappy by 'Your Majesty'. You appear troubled by 'my liege'. You appear vexed by 'Sire'.

And so, when I am able, I call you by your name. I call you my friend, so that you know that I love you and that you mean the world to me. You always have, even before my feelings shifted into what they are now.

I see you smile and it is as if I have been struck by lightning. I hear you laugh and I fear I might swoon. If I do even one thing to make you happy, I feel as though I am walking on air, and I wish to do it again, and again, and again, over and over, endless until you never know pain again.

Arthur, the way I feel for you consumes me, like a fire that will never go out. My feelings scorch me, leaving burns and scars that will never fully go away, hidden on the inside where you will never see them. You will never truly know just how deeply this arrow from Cupid's bow has pierced me... I dare say he's emptied his quiver on me, for the mere thought of life without you, without your smile, your warmth, your brilliance, your bravery, your understanding, without you and everything that you are...

I don't dare tell you about these newer feelings of mine. I know you, and I know you will not treat me any different if my particular type of love for you does not match that of yours for me, but my head is clouded by fear. I cannot stop imagining that you shall become uncomfortable in my presence, that you will hold me away at arm's length, that you will look for someone else to court in an attempt to help me move on... All the possibilities are so painful, Arthur. I would rather nothing changed, even though I know my fear is irrational. I should believe in our bond, trust in our friendship, rely on the knowledge that you would never push me away...

I am a coward, my love. To be called the Ultimate Knight feels like a joke, for I am so afraid that I cannot listen to the logic in my own head. My strength of body means nothing if my strength of mind is as fragile as glass.

Yet, even as I long for something different in my relationship with you, I cannot say that I am unhappy with what I do have with you. Perhaps this, too, is why I will not speak these words nor send these letters, for what I already have with you, such a close, personal friendship, is more than I can ask for.

You have always been enough for me, Arthur.

Eternally yours,

Lancelot

* * *

Glorious Arthur,

I must apologize. I must, for I fear my mind is spinning out of my own control.

Every day I think of you. Every morning when I wake up, every night as I go to sleep, in every spare moment of my life, you are in my waking thoughts.

You haunt my dreams, too. At all moments, it seems, my mind conspires against me. All I want is to be happy with what I have with you, but it appears my desires are only growing, not fading, with time, and they eat me alive with every passing day.

I imagine your forehead against mine, with your hands on my waist. You lift your head, kissing me once on each eyelid, and I feel weaker than I ever have in my life.

I imagine your hands, removing my armor so that they may rest upon me, touching my back, my shoulders, my chest, all areas that I keep guarded under steel and promises. You disarm me, and I allow it. My foolish heart wishes to be vulnerable before you, for I know I will always be able to trust you with myself.

I imagine the lightest touches on my arms, spreading like trails of fire as your fingers slide along my person, and I let myself be consumed.

I imagine your lips pressing to mine, and I lose the ability to breathe.

I imagine your eyes, looking into mine, glowing with care and love and happiness, and I drown without a second thought.

Sometimes I dream of things I dare not write down here, my sweet, for it makes my face burn and my heart race and all I want to do is apologize for thinking of you in such a way. It feels terrible, as though I am taking advantage of you in my thoughts, and I fear that one day you will discover the fantasies of my mind and feel discomfort or disgusted by me.

If I ever lost you, Arthur, I know my world would shatter, and I would never become whole again.

Apologetically yours,

Lancelot

* * *

Arthur,

I can't stand it. Today, I cannot stand it at all.

I feel desperate, like a caged animal. I feel my soul clawing at my body from within, needing to come out and indulge. My composure is in shambles, my mind is in disarray, and though you are not at fault, it is all because of you.

Arthur, I burn for you. My heart screams and cries out and it's painful. Every inch of me aches for the smallest touch, I long for the basest of acknowledgement from you, a look, a word, a smile, Chaos, anything! Just the thought of you giving me your attention sends me into a fit, and I know that even the brush of your arm against mine as you pass me in the corridor would be enough to bring me to ecstasy!

My head is pounding, my ears playing and replaying the sound of my name coming from your lips, and I crave it. I crave you, my love, and it has never been so powerful or so consuming before. I don't know what is wrong with me. I don't know why today is the day that I might go mad. I am afraid, Arthur. I am afraid that my need for you is pushing me to the brink of madness and that I will not be able to stop myself from jumping down into it.

Arthur, the love of my life, how can I even begin to fully describe this? I've written so much and yet it is only a crumb of what is flaring inside me. I think of you and I burn up. You are not an inferno, for that is a small candle compared to the one that burns inside me. You are nothing less than the sun in the sky, approaching me to incinerate me in an instant, but even that feels like a pale comparison today.

Arthur, I am deeply sorry, but I fear writing this is only making things worse. I must stop before I

* * *

My love,

My upcoming mission to Acorn Kingdom is fast approaching. Soon it will be time for me to depart. I hope that, when that day comes, you are not too busy to see me off.

I will miss you terribly while I am gone, but I take peace in knowing that I am doing this for Avalon, and for you. To make this world a better place, and for you to have one less thing to worry about.

It's pathetic, is it not? As a knight, I should be focusing on the best for my kingdom, as I vowed to when you first let Caliburn descend upon my shoulders and gave to me my title, and yet I know the truth.

It's for you, Arthur. It's always been for you.

...

_In his study, the king shoves away the stack of letters, his face burning as a chorus of emotion swells within him, unable to take the guilt at having read so many of Lancelot's secret letters. His hands tremble as he searches around his desk for something to write with._

* * *

~~Dear Lancelot,~~

~~My wonderful Lancelot,~~

~~To Lance,~~

~~My dearest~~

Lance,

Please come see me when you have a moment to yourself. Do not be afraid.

Yours,

Arthur


	6. Mirror, Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn? 
> 
> Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, followed by the argument over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place. 

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get _why.”_

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at in that way before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his own kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… _wrong? Bad? In poor taste?_ ** _Off,_** to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

Yet, as he opened his eyes and saw Lancelot still staring resolutely at him, as though desperate for him to understand, Sonic had to wonder if the knight had a point; Shadow had had amnesia twice, now. His memories had reset, but he had still been Shadow at his core. Sonic had never doubted that.

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

_Are you him?_ Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. _Are you who he could have been if things had been different?_

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Sonic heaved out an exhale, using both hands to pull Lancelot to his feet. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay… but no more protecting me from my house or my friends. I’ll let you know when we’re in danger, okay?”

And Lancelot beamed, overjoyed, his teeth poking out through his parting lips and his eyes crinkling with happiness, and Sonic would be an even bigger liar if he denied that it was one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen.

_Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too._

* * *

The sound of his pen scratching along the page was the only sound in the room. King Arthur sat back in his chair, stretching out his fingers, his eyes seeking out the room’s only other occupant, who was standing by with his back against the wall, looking displeased.

Shadow was silent, as always.

Arthur let out a breath, drumming a couple of fingers against his desk. “I cannot solve anything if you do not speak,” he finally remarked, much to the displeasure of the other.

“I don’t want to be out there with the others. This is the only room where no one barges in. That’s all.”

“Hm. Quite.”

It was _mostly_ true, he supposed. Sometimes an advisor would poke their head in, but usually those weren’t the people Shadow was hiding from.

Arthur had started hearing the rumors a while ago; Sir Lancelot, his greatest and closest knight, and his longtime friend, was deeply in love with him. The rumors had followed him every day, and plagued him by night, as he wondered if they could be real, and wondered what he would do if they _were_ real.

He had started to see and feel it, too. Lancelot’s habit of looking his way, his gaze, hidden behind his visor, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away again. The way his knight’s hand would remain on his person, his touch still warming him even after he drew his hand away. These moments had grown in number in the latest months, though their time together had remained fleeting, as the life of a king and the life of a knight were wrought with busy schedules and hardly enough time for a ‘hello’ to be exchanged.

For a while, Arthur had felt that something unsaid but reciprocated was between them, but Lancelot was gone, now, and Shadow had taken his place, and now the knights and the maids and the servants all looked at Shadow in the same way they had done to Lancelot, and the whispers and giggles followed the dark hedgehog until he ran into Arthur’s study and shut them all out behind him.

He made for some rather unsettling company, this sullen, tense man who shared his face with that of his closest friend.

Arthur missed him. Arthur missed him so much it hurt, and every day that passed he wished for the man who had stood by him from the very beginning to still be there, by his side, in a world that demanded the most he would be able to give as the bare minimum, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to take it out on Shadow. Nor was he about to dismiss the fact that Shadow was in a strange new world, and likely every bit as confused, disturbed, and frightened as he was.

“Would you like me to speak with them?” Arthur offered, figuring it was worth a try.

Yet Shadow huffed in response, the proposal seeming to offend him, and Arthur wondered why that was. “Don’t bother, I can handle my own problems.”

That was the other thing about Shadow: he had never, at any point, treated Arthur like he was royalty.

“It’s considered bad form to refuse the offer of a king,” Arthur pointed out, partly as a piece of advice; though he didn’t mind it himself, he knew Sir Gawain would throw a fit upon hearing that Shadow had shown such dismissal.

And the other part of him wanted to push Shadow just a little more. To get more of that strangely satisfying feeling of being treated like a man instead of a crown.

“I don’t care,” came the instant reply, and Arthur had to fight back a smile. “There are no kings where I come from, so your title means nothing to me, and even if it did, I won’t bow to you, or to anyone.”

The ‘not again’ went unsaid, but Arthur could hear it in Shadow’s voice, could read it in his body language. Arthur had always been rather adept at deciphering Lancelot’s small cues and gestures, though Lancelot kept many of them hidden behind a wall of steel, but as for Shadow, who bared his face and his body for the world to see, nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s discerning gaze. It was fascinating, truly, to be able to read someone new so well and so easily. Shadow was a puzzle with clear edges, but with many, many pieces that Arthur still had to search for.

All in all… a refreshing individual, despite the circumstances.

“Okay,” Arthur relented, and the sight of Shadow’s eyes narrowing in confusion only served to make fighting back his smile impossible. “In that case, I shall leave it to you.”

With that, he picked back up his pen, continuing to draft the latest ordinance on adjusting the limits of imported goods past Avalonian borders. The work was tedious, boring, dull, and even though he had just taken a break, Arthur felt his hand start to cramp again with just a few words jotted down. The king sighed, rolling his wrist a few times, before getting back to work.

_Just grin and bear it,_ he thought to himself as an involuntary noise of discomfort escaped him as his hand twinged again. _You’ve done it before and you will always be able to do it. A king cannot show weakness. A king may not make excuses for poor judgement. Everyone is counting on me to do the best I can._

The thoughts only served to worsen the sense of anxiety that always seemed to cloud his mind, and Arthur grimaced, dropping his pen, holding his head in his hands and wishing for comfort from a man who was no longer with him.

His ears perked up as he heard a noise, something akin to a footstep taken in his direction, and when the king lifted his head, he noticed that Shadow no longer had his back flush against the wall. The dark hedgehog was doing his best to mask his emotions, but Arthur could still peel back every layer he put up, seeing the concern and the discomfort in the smallest things, from the slight narrowing of his eyes to the light raising of his spines. Shadow’s body language was silently screaming in empathy, something Arthur wasn’t used to receiving from others, and it intrigued him more than it should have.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Shadow, not waiting to be prompted; he doubted the other would have asked, anyhow. “It’s simply sobering, sometimes, to remember that I have a kingdom’s worth of expectations to meet.” The king looked back down at the piles of papers on his desk; it was the same work, day in and day out, with decisions ranging from laughably easy to crushingly difficult. Yet, he had to make them all. Without thinking, he murmured aloud, “A single mistake could cost me everything I’ve done up to this moment. All the good I’ve done, all the efforts I’ve made, all the reputation that I’ve struggled to build up… it could all go up in smoke in a second, and I would be back at the beginning, needing to prove myself over and over again to people who expect everything from me.”

It was a moment of weakness, of cowardice, wherein Arthur was so tired from years of work and the loss of his most precious ally, for whom he still had almost no time to mourn. His eyes flicked back up to Shadow, and he prepared to apologize and ask that he forget all that he had just divulged 一 it was hardly fair on his guest, after all 一 but then he saw Shadow’s face, stunned and amazed, his red eyes wide and fixed on him, welling with a look that Arthur almost never saw on another person: understanding.

Shadow was looking at him with such mind-blowingly clear understanding and empathy that Arthur’s breath was taken away.

For a few more charged, heart-pounding moments, all they could do was stare, the sensation of something new connecting them becoming stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Then Shadow tore his gaze away and flung open the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him, leaving Arthur alone in his study.

As the king sat back in his chair, he stared into space as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what that might have meant for Shadow.

He was certain that, even though his dear friend’s face was too often hidden from view, that Lancelot had never once looked at him like that.

_Shadow… what is your story, I wonder?_

* * *

Just when Lancelot thought he couldn’t hate the odd technology of Sonic’s world any more, it came to a sudden and violent peak as the blue hero was called into action as a swarm of machines called ‘robots’ began invading Station Square. To make matters worse, they were created by some sort of mad doctor, and upon seeing an image of the man in question, Lancelot had to restrain himself from running the monitor through with his sword.

This mad doctor held a horrible resemblance to a certain ‘emperor’ that had caused Arthur far too much trouble, back at home in Avalon, and it made Lancelot desire nothing less than for this man’s complete and utter demise at his hands.

According to Sonic, these attacks weren’t anything new to him and his team, and though he knew it was a distraction or a trap, they didn’t have any options aside from stopping them quickly and efficiently, for the sake of everyone who lived in the city. He rallied his team effortlessly, leading the chase down to the battle, not bothering to bark orders because of the trust he carried in his followers…

Lancelot’s heart swam with affection. Sonic truly was Arthur, whether he believed it or not, and it showed in everything he did. He was a leader who cared not for the title, a man who cared for even the smallest life under his protection, and his bravery was unmatched, inspiring, and absolute. He was someone of such immeasurable importance who needed to be protected at all costs.

So what else could Lancelot do but run to shield him when, during the battle, he saw a robot take aim at Sonic’s back?

His ears registered the sound of Sonic moving, then stumbling, but he only paid attention to the blast that came his way, soaking up the impact with his legendary strength, but he was not indestructible. Blood began dripping from a wound on his arm, and the scent of singed hair prickled in his nose in the most unpleasant way. Lancelot hissed in agony, his mind threatening to cloud with this new kind of pain, like fire but so much more unnatural, but he took pride in knowing that he had done his job. Sonic was safe. Sonic was safe and…

And he was dragging Lancelot to the side?

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Sonic demanded, panic and fury coloring his tone, and Lancelot’s feet almost froze in shock. Why was Sonic so frightened? Why did he sound so angry?

_Had he done something wrong?_

In a space several yards away from the battle zone, Sonic sat Lancelot down, and swore under his breath when he saw his battle wound. “Damn it Lance, I knew that robot was there! Why didn’t you just let me dodge? Oh Chaos, you’re bleeding, why did you run in like that?!”

Lancelot only gaped at him, his mind struggling to make sense of his leader’s words as Sonic inspected his arm and fretted over how it wasn’t healing.

Was he supposed to heal quicker than the average being? Lancelot supposed that maybe, with the help of his mother or Merlina, that could be possible, but the young girl who appeared to be his mother’s counterpart appeared more of a fighter than a healer, and he had not yet seen a counterpart to the royal wizard.

Lancelot wanted to ask these questions and get some answers, but the near furious look on Sonic’s face made him hold his tongue. Such a look on someone he admired and loved so strongly… it was enough to make him feel like the scum of the earth.

The knight sat out the rest of the battle, staying in place even as Sonic left to finish the job, and the humiliating feeling of utter shame managed to overpower even his need to ensure his leader’s safety. Every time he felt the urge to stand up regardless, to charge into the battle even while wounded, and fight by his leader’s side as his sword and shield, the image of Sonic’s distraught face would flash before his eyes again, and he would remember his words, sharper and more painful than any sword, demanding why he had interfered.

Why had he failed his job as a knight?

What good was he, if he couldn’t even fulfil his one objective?

Lancelot’s head remained bowed in shame, even as he heard rapid footsteps coming his way. It remained bowed, even as he felt steady hands clean his wound and wrap a bandage around it.

It was only when Sonic lifted his chin and forced his visor up did Lancelot finally manage to look him in the eye.

“Why did you step in front of me like that?” Sonic asked, his voice calm again, though it did nothing to soothe Lancelot’s inner turmoil. The knight wanted nothing more than to no longer speak, to be swallowed by the ground and forgotten, the pathetic knight who couldn’t do his job when it mattered.

But he couldn’t refuse his leader, and so he forced himself to talk.

“It was the promise I made to you,” he said, and he struggled to keep his dismay in check as Sonic immediately looked displeased at his answer. “I am… protective by nature, and even moreso as a knight. I swore to protect Arthur, and I must protect you, too, even if that comes with my own life as a cost. That is something I must do, for I--”

“Oh stop it!” Sonic interrupted, once again looking angry and upset, and Lancelot bit back his speech, both ashamed and relieved. Had he gone even further, he might have lost control of his emotions and revealed just how deeply his affections for the blue hedgehog lied.

And then, Sonic asked something very, very strange.

“Isn’t there more to being a knight than serving a king?”

Lancelot, who up to that point had felt so certain of his standing, of his mission, of who Sonic was and what he represented, felt his heart break in two as cold reality settled over him.

“No,” he whispered in response, having never felt further away from the other than he did in that moment. "No, there is not."

Sonic was not his king. Sonic was Arthur, but he was not his king. Sonic had no want for a knight, no desire to act as a king.

_But if that were the case, what was Lancelot to do?_

“Lancelot.”

Sonic’s voice was firm, and Lancelot braced himself for some hard truths.

“I’m not a king, Lance. I’m a hero, I guess. That’s what people call me, anyways. But the point is, I’m a free hedgehog. I’m not here to give orders or have people die for me, I’m just around to have a good time, to go where the wind takes me, and if I have to save a few people from some robots in the meantime, I will. I just gotta do what I gotta do… and I can’t do that if all you can do is try to protect me.”

Even with his face raised, chin still supported by his leader-- no, by Sonic’s hand, Lancelot tried his best to look away. His eyes watered treacherously, threatening to spill over. Being a knight was Lancelot’s life, his identity, the air that he breathed, the reality he lived in. It was everything he knew, but… but now it was…

The hand disappeared from his face, and then Sonic was reaching for his own hand on his uninjured arm, and Lancelot was pulled to his feet. Sonic looked him full in the eyes, his own green ones boring into his, their pull hypnotic, and even as Lancelot tried to choke back his tears, he felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Hey… I need you to trust me with my own life, okay?”

Lancelot blinked, and the smallest of tears managed to escape him. Sonic didn’t think he trusted him.

In a sense, Lancelot supposed that he didn’t.

Yet when he reopened his eyes, he saw the look the other hedgehog was sending him. It was a look he had seen in Arthur’s eyes many times, always mixed with a sense of sad resignation. Lancelot had never been able to read it perfectly, a fact which had always frustrated him to no end, for all he wanted was to be Arthur’s closest, to be the one who knew him at a level that no one else could hope to achieve.

But in Sonic’s eyes, the message was plain and clear.

He wanted to be seen as an equal, not someone above him, unattainable, on a pedestal. No, it wasn’t just that… Sonic looked determined to pull them both onto equal ground, to the same level, and the thought made Lancelot’s head spin.

“Lance… I know it’s scary, but you can choose how you want to live your life now, and trust me, it’s a good thing.”

And Lancelot, who knew nothing aside from being a knight, felt the crushing weight of the world in front of him, dark and untamed, when before he had Arthur’s light to follow. Paths were branching in front of him, too many to count and too many to walk down individually and explore. His head spun with possibility, and fright gripped at him, tempting him to deny, to refuse, to hide his face, or perhaps, to die as a knight in a world that refused to house him as he was.

Then he felt Sonic’s hand, still holding his, warm and comforting and safe, and somehow, in the midst of his existential turmoil, Lancelot felt a warm glimmer of hope.

“Okay,” he murmured in response, and Sonic’s brilliant grin soothed and delighted him more than he could properly understand.

_Sonic… I shall do my best. For you… and for me, as well._

* * *

It hit too close to home, in this place that was about as far from home as Shadow could get.

Every day, whether he looked for him or not, Shadow saw King Arthur struggle silently. He saw him work day in and day out, endlessly trying to prove that he was worthy of being king, of being in everyone’s good graces and that he wasn’t just _entitled_ to be there, but that he was _supposed_ to be in his position, even while all around him there sat obstacles and red tape and tough decisions and divides and people who were just never satisfied and…

And…

Shadow closed his eyes, recalling every debriefing he had had in G.U.N.’s headquarters. He remembered feeling as though he was on a leash, that every mission, every move he made had to be executed perfectly, otherwise he would lose his right to exist as a free being.

No… Shadow had never been free. Not since the day he was created, with the power to hurt and to heal, and every day he had to face the consequences of actions he had committed years prior. Shadow remembered the feeling of the imaginary leash shortening, tightening around his throat, reminding him that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Shadow would never be considered a true person by the people who saw him as a weapon.

And Arthur… Arthur seemed to be considered in the same way by the people who saw him as a king.

Shadow’s heart ached, and the dark hedgehog grit his teeth as he recalled all the times he had caught the other wincing and massaging his hand while drafting laws and messages, how he plastered a smile on his face as he met people and made addresses when he clearly would rather be anywhere else, and how he kept his voice even as he ordered his knights around, even though he obviously didn’t want to be giving orders, he just wanted to be looked at as an equal, but he was so ingrained in this life that he felt resigned, and so he stopped trying to fight where the fight could not be won. Shadow knew all these feelings, all the sensations of being worked to the bone, of putting on an act to protect himself, of accepting that there were some things that, like it or not, would simply never change…

But Arthur, unlike him, was not the Ultimate Lifeform. This man was not made of infinite power and potential, was not capable of rapid healing or boosting himself in body and mind with his own energies whenever it suited him. Arthur was a remarkable but regular hedgehog, who had been working off of nothing but his own willpower and strength of mind, and that knowledge hurt perhaps the most of all.

Arthur and himself… they both pulled a painfully similar weight, a weight that, even on his worst days, Shadow had never wished upon another person.

So what else could Shadow do but grab Arthur’s hand and run him out of there, out of the castle, yelling vague excuses at anyone who tried to stop them?

Arthur followed easily behind him, not asking a single question as Shadow ran, ran away from suffocating walls and legal obligations and the knowledge that it was never, ever enough.

Shadow was used to Sonic keeping up with him. They had always been on equal grounds, and Shadow knew it, even at the beginning stages of their rivalry when they both had asserted that they were the stronger, the faster, the more incredible hedgehog. With time, that knowledge became easier to swallow, as their rivalry held a friendlier edge to it, and especially so when their friendship and partnership had become more undeniable, and when those dumb, weird feelings started springing forward and…

And…

But with Arthur and his frightfully similar situation, Shadow’s empathy had hit him like a truck, and seeing him in so much concealed pain every day had turned into something too much to bear, and so, just this once, Shadow decided he would be the man’s savior, even for just this one evening.

They stopped in a meadow, far beyond the castle and away from the treeline where the forests began, and Shadow avoided looking at the exhausted king, unsure how to express what was in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

How was he supposed to tell him that watching him take all this weight, all this responsibility, was too much for him?

How was he supposed to say that he had similar issues, with G.U.N. and the people of the United Federation breathing down his neck and observing his every move, and that perfection was the bare minimum he was allowed to do?

How could he explain that they both deserved to live their lives without earning the right to exist without constant scrutiny, where one slip up meant everything falling apart, absolute ruin, the end of the world…

Shadow took in a deep breath, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings he wasn’t sure he could put into words, but when he finally looked over to Arthur, the breath left him and wouldn’t return.

Arthur didn’t look angry or annoyed or anxious, even though Shadow had ripped him from his work that he couldn’t afford to fall behind on. Arthur didn’t look upset at all.

He looked grateful.

He looked serene.

Arthur looked directly into Shadow’s eyes, his own green ones reflecting the stars up above, and Shadow wanted to tell him everything, even though his body refused to breathe and his tongue refused to move.

The hand in his hold shifted, and Shadow felt Arthur squeeze his hand softly, just once.

He understood.

Chaos above, Arthur _understood,_ and Shadow didn’t even need to say it.

Shadow swallowed, feeling overwhelmed, and Arthur seemed to understand that, too. Wordlessly, the blue hedgehog moved closer, his hand never leaving Shadow’s, and he leaned his body against Shadow’s, answering an unspoken need for comfort without smothering him, without trapping him in place with a hug or an embrace.

Shadow closed his eyes, hating how the gesture reminded him of one time Sonic had done something similar, a small shoulder check that had lingered a moment too long, and at his side, he felt Arthur breathe in deeply and hold it in, as though he were resisting the urge to sigh.

Shadow knew he was probably thinking about Lancelot.

Their hands both squeezed at the same time, and they both knew.

It was a strange feeling, as though both of them had lost a large piece of their lives, only to gain another to take its place. It was something that felt like infidelity, even though nothing warranting such a thing had been established with the other person on their minds.

Yet this closeness… this was something that Shadow had wanted for a long time, but had never been able to truly obtain. Shadow didn’t always know how to use his words, how to explain what he wanted or what he needed or what he was going through, and now here he was, with Arthur, a man who understood him without words. A man who he understood, who brought out his empathy to an almost painful degree, and Shadow wanted in that moment for nothing more than for them both to be happy.

As he felt the warmth of Arthur’s body and the beautiful comfort of being understood, even in a world that wasn’t his own, Shadow figured he might be on the right track.

_Arthur… I don’t know how to thank you._

* * *

When Sonic first kissed Lancelot, it was after another battle, in which neither escaped without injury. Sonic could see Lancelot try his hardest to hold back his instinctive reactions, struggling to trust him and not place the blame on his shoulders, and Sonic looked out the window, knowing that life was short and uncertain and that any day might be his last.

He also did it knowing that waiting for Shadow was not going to help either of them at all.

He felt Lancelot tense up in shock, then relax, lifting his hands up to his head and burying them in his spines. Lancelot was pilant, willing, eager to receive whatever Sonic wanted to give him, and Sonic responded with his best efforts to make the kiss special, the sort of kiss that Lancelot deserved, after so many years of putting himself second. Whenever Lancelot made a noise that suggested he enjoyed what Sonic was doing, Sonic resolved himself to keep going, to deliver the indulgence that Lancelot had always been denied.

It was completely different to how he always imagined kissing Shadow would be like. He had always imagined a competition, with both of them trying to one-up each other like they always did, but Lancelot’s sweet eagerness as their lips met again and again pushed all thoughts of Shadow from Sonic’s mind, and as they finally parted for air, it was Sonic’s name that escaped from Lancelot’s mouth.

* * *

When Arthur first kissed Shadow, it felt like a long time coming. The king knew he would need to take the initiative, with Shadow struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and he felt the striped hedgehog become rigid in shock when Arthur’s hands landed lightly on his arms and he pressed their lips together.

He also did it with the knowledge that he might never see Lancelot again, and if that were the case, that Shadow was someone he couldn’t bear to let slip through his fingers as well.

When Shadow recovered from the shock, he kissed back, roughly and intensely, and Arthur found himself being pushed to keep up with him. It was like a battle, fueled by unspoken, deeply internalized feelings, finally being let loose until their heads swam with a lack of air and an overflow of emotion and the indescribable feeling of connection without words.

Kissing Shadow lit a fire in Arthur’s soul, even as he felt Shadow start to calm down, the dark hedgehog finding enjoyment at being able to be vulnerable without pain for once in his life. Arthur could feel the heat flush off of the other’s face in waves, and when they finally parted, gasping for air, he was so, so glad that there was no visor or helmet to create a barrier between him and those eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, which he could read like a book, and which told him endless stories of gratitude.


End file.
